


Roses They Weren't

by olga_eulalia



Category: Black Sails, Sleeping Beauty (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty, Hedges Of Unusual Size, M/M, Non-Consensual, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 01:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_eulalia/pseuds/olga_eulalia
Summary: An incredibly self-indulgent Sleeping Beauty AU. Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An incredibly self-indulgent Sleeping Beauty AU. Unbeta'd. Non-native speaker writing here.

Once upon a time, when it was late winter and John Silver had been travelling across the land for many months, he came into a forest that was dark and strangely quiet, and he thought he’d lost the path when suddenly, just before nightfall, a hollow-way appeared in the gloom that brought him safely to the entrance of an inn.

The room was dimly lit, the ceiling low, and smoke came curling out when he entered. For a moment, all faces were turned towards him, squinting. But since Silver was not altogether unpleasant to look at and had the gift of a charming smile he found himself accepted rather warmly for a mere stranger passing through.

Over the years he had learned a couple of valuable things: That news, embellished, were quick to draw a crowd. That people in general enjoyed the company of a man who held their opinions in high esteem. That a ripping yarn was as good as any currency in that even the most standoffish were afflicted with an unusual bout of generosity once the teller’s tongue started to feel a bit parched. And all these, and more, came in very handy that night.

 

Now it was true even then that every place, no matter how remote, had its own stories, some of which people liked to talk about gleefully and often. While others, they only mentioned under their breath or kept secret altogether for fear of catching their oddness. And as knowing which was which was nigh impossible in advance, one had to excuse Silver. It was nothing but his natural curiosity that made him ask about the manor in the distance, whose it was, and he couldn’t have known that it would bring conversation throughout the room to a halt.

“The Devil’s,” a woodcutter muttered into his jug of ale.

The blacksmith, no less brawny in stature, set down his mug and corrected him.

Then, bit by bit, more people felt confident enough to chime in. Indeed, a rather fierce competition arose as to whose sources were the most reliable, whose account the most accurate. The innkeeper’s face was impartiality itself as she pulled another frothy pint.

From what Silver was able to gather the building had been abandoned for more than two generations and folk in these parts believed that it was frequented by a most godless crowd: Ogres, ghosts, witches and suchlike. It was somewhat difficult to pin down the particulars of the tale since it morphed as it went from teller to teller, but in one aspect they all agreed: Don’t go near. The message was so uniform that one could almost believe everyone either in on a joke or cleverly hiding something from an outsider.

Silver, intrigued, had just made the decision to discover for himself whether the place held anything of value that could make his detour yet worthwhile when a shadow by the fire spoke up.

Hogwash! A tall, old man shifted his lined face into the light. In his days, everyone knew that the manor had been bewitched and that the only way to release its residents from the spell was to bestow one kiss on the beautiful princess trapped inside.

The old man frowned at the amusement rippling through his audience. He continued: Some of his friends had tried it in their youthful folly. Thought they could best the brambles that encased the stone walls as securely as an iron casket, but none of them were ever seen to make it through. Or return.

“Witchcraft.” The woodcutter nodded.

The talk then shifted to discuss other possible doings of the Devil and whether the local magistrate was in cahoots with him, and Silver, feigning bodily discomfort, moved across the room to occupy a cosy seat by the fire as well.

“I’d very much like to see this manor house for myself,” he said. Perhaps the tale and her teller’s name would find their way into the book he was writing, he offered as incentive, hoping that, at the end of the day, an interested listener would make up for an empty promise. “You wouldn’t happen to remember the shortest way?”

The old man studied the frayed edges of Silver’s second-hand coat and his peg leg with great care, but Silver’s face yet more carefully still. From the corner of his mouth, where a missing tooth allowed him to comfortably fit the amber stem of his pipe, he admitted, “I do.”


	2. Chapter 2

A glittering layer of ice outlined branch and fallen leaf. Overnight, the ground had frozen over and Silver’s breath fogged the air as he walked the perimeter. His snares were empty, winter mushrooms sparse. With the supplies in his bag dwindling, a longer stay would be ill-advised, and it pained him to think that he’d have to seek his good fortune elsewhere while the turreted manor sat like a most precious egg pristine in its spiky nest. His gaze roamed all that unspoiled glass and iron he’d be able to sell if only he could find a way to get his hands on it.

At one point, the house must have lorded over a large swath of land. The tree-lined road, whose faint remnants had guided him on his way, stretched for about two miles up north and the overgrown front gate was wide enough to fit six horses side by side. In an abandoned farmstead close by, under a roof that sat worryingly askew, Silver had made camp. And though he had a good view of the premises, there was nothing out of the ordinary to report on. Except for one very obvious thing:

The unusually large thornhedge that wrapped the manor in a tight embrace, covering it all the way round and almost all the way up the highest tower. Even the forest kept its distance from such an unruly, greedy growth that had swallowed up ladder, plank and axe in its past and more recently Silver’s handsaw.

He spotted the tool and began to tug at it with all his strength, hoping to pry it from the clutches of the hedge this time. The sun’s rays were slanting in just so that he could make out something stuck further inside the thicket. A piece of clothing perhaps. Or perhaps it was…

“Good morning!” An old woman, snugly wrapped up in shawls, had come out of the woods and startled him.

“Good morning,” he scrambled up his last ounce of cheer. Seeing that she was dragging a bundle of brushwood along on a makeshift sledge, he then offered his help, though, truth be told, he deemed his own work far more important and had no real intention of abandoning it.

She mustered him with a critical eye and declined. “You seem very busy.”

As it turned out, she was much more interested in what he was doing anyway, lingering by his side and quizzing him about his intentions.

Those were nothing but chivalrous, he assured her. Curse-breaking was his business. Drawn by the warm sparkle in her eyes, he leaned in and said, “I heard,” and then recounted the old man’s tale.

“Oh, nonsense!” She poked the hard ground with her walking stick. “When I was young, everyone knew that it was no princess trapped inside this bloody hedge, but a handsome prince.” The edges of her smile gleamed with gold. “You let me know if you need any help in waking him from his slumber.”

Despite the chill, Silver flushed terribly, seeing himself bent over a downy pillow, lips skimming across a prickly cheek, and gave a chuckle that only drew more attention to his self-conscious state.

Perceptive and kind, the old woman changed the subject, entertaining him with anecdotes of bygone days for a while, bringing to life the bustle of the estate with such clarity in his mind’s eye that he was almost tricked into mourning its loss.

“Snow’s coming. Can always trust my bones to be right about that,” she eventually said and then pulled a wrinkled apple and a handful of raisins from her coat pockets – a sweet haul which she handed to Silver in its entirety, patting his cheek. “Good luck, dear.”

 

Long after she had disappeared back into the forest, Silver was still sitting on an empty plinth with a raisin tucked between his back teeth. When was the last time someone had shown him such kindness? Gifted him food without expecting anything in return? Called him dear without disdain? He should’ve been more honest about wanting to help her. He should’ve been more honest in wanting to immortalize the old man’s name in a book, too. But instead, he had chosen this. This unrewarding task. This confounded thing.

His next attempt at freeing the saw was rather ungentle. And the more he chided it for its stubbornness, the more the hedge creaked and fought against his efforts. With thorns like talons, it rewarded his impatience by goring him to the bone.


	3. Chapter 3

In the wan morning light, slowly among the branches, snowflakes descended. The forest lay quiet and still as if it had taken a deep breath and slipped under a white cover where it now waited for the sun’s return.

While Silver’s sore hands were preparing his belongings for the journey ahead, carefully cording up his burlap bag, his thoughts were far away already, imagining a warm spot, a mouth-watering meal in the next town. He was about to turn his back on the manor, erase this disappointment from memory to the best of his ability when it pierced him: Red.

Red, almost purple, amidst the fresh snow and ashen wood, a delicate bud poked its head out from an array of tender green where yesterday none had been visible, so vibrant and soaked with colour that paint might drip from it at any moment. Behind it, within reach, another blossom coiled. And then another. Dazzled, Silver quite forgot all caution and stepped closer to touch them with his fingertips. They were real, all of them. And a little further on, closer by the wall, where warmth huddled by the stones, one had unfurled its petals like a joyful welcome.

There he saw that he had come a long way already and that the forest was barely visible from this far inside the hedge. Slender rods arched above him like a protective bower, criss-crossing densely. If the old tale had been true and those been possessed of malicious intent, escape would have been quite impossible at this point.

So when the man-high wooden door at the end of the path yielded and allowed him in, Silver grinned: People like him never got stuck in fairytales.


	4. Chapter 4

It was as quiet as the whispering snowfall outside. But a peal of laughter might ring out any moment. A door fall into its lock. A serving-maid pass by, carrying a stack of freshly folded linen. Sumptuous carpets muffled Silver’s steps as he walked the long, branching hallways of the manor, a flickering five-armed candelabra in hand that illuminated a wealth of riches difficult to wrap one’s mind around. Marble, golden ornaments, exquisite furnishings – only the finest, most expensive materials had been good enough for the owner, whom Silver had started to think of very dearly.

Coming into the great hall by way of the kitchen, he had tried his way through the pickled goods in the pantry till his stomach was stuffed full so that his gait was unhurried now and slow while the bag in his tow grew heavier fast. 

Wherever he went, whether rounding a corner or climbing a stairway, eyes followed him, recognizing him as someone who did not belong and looking on his presence with according disdain. At times bewigged and befrilled, at times presented on black silk and ermine, a hundred unhappy faces judged his actions as he explored room after room. It filled him with an odd sense of satisfaction to see that a couple of these portraits had been knocked down and vandalised, their faces ripped out.

Following those, he discovered that someone had beat him to the library. Books had been pulled out, drawers upturned, the floor strewn with loose papers. Ransacked it appeared in stark contrast to the rest of the house which remained undisturbed in its stately splendour.

Like a box full of choice jewels, the lady’s bedroom opened up to him, the surfaces sheened with mother-of-pearl gloss in the pale light. A satin evening gown had been laid out. Matching jewellery. Items that Silver thought to leave untouched, stepping past them into the adjoining chamber where he found half the curtains drawn.

In the dusk, which made it difficult to tell shadow from shape, Silver at first believed that an armful of clothes had been carelessly flung across the bed, but the glow of his candelabra soon transformed it into two knee-high boots, a dark coat and even in the dimness the red shock of hair then became unmistakable.

Silver backed away, withdrawing his light as fast as possible. A doorframe bumped his elbow and startled him into speaking. “I’m awfully sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to disturb…,” he said.

But the figure continued to sprawl facedown as if felled by a mortal blow.

Silver hesitated. He thought of the bag bulging with jewellery and artworks that was waiting for him outside in the hallway and he thought of what happened to thieves who were caught stealing from rich people’s homes. And then, unbidden, the memory of the two old people and his own wheedling talk entered his mind and prompted him to drag his courage by the scruff.

It took both hands and a lot of strength to roll the body onto its back. Thick strands of hair fell aside, revealing a face both virile and elegant, its features so handsomely drawn and complexion so delicate that Silver was quite startled by its beauty. He had spent enough time in the study, rummaging through the documents there and looking at the portraits to know that this man was not the master of the house, and since there was no plunder on him except for a scrap of paper clutched in his hand, which made thievery an unlikely motive for his being here, his presence remained a mystery.

A quick examination revealed no visible wound. And another couple of minutes gave certainty that the man’s life was not altogether gone. Both his heartbeat and his breath merely came very slowly and could not be quickened by any means at hand. Whatever it was – surely a quick peck would not be able to cure as strange a condition as this.

To distract himself from that particular thought, Silver grabbed the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. The lines there were even, the letters themselves full of verve as their author vowed to do the utmost to mitigate the damage of the curse and apologised more than once for reneging on the promise of forever, but that these drastic measures were necessary, alas, to avert a much more dreadful fate.

“So I take it you’re James?” Silver, stirred by the intimate, imploring tone of the letter, pondered the sleeper’s face.

By the minute now, the old tale gained in plausibility until it had lodged itself in Silver’s mind like a bulky obstacle that he couldn’t think past, and he caught his gaze returning to those tender lips again and again. Considering it as a real possibility was simply absurd. And it definitely wasn’t good sense that made him lean over and study the man from up close. His thick eyelashes. His freckles. The faint lines bracketing his trim, red beard. Was his expression dreamy? Thoughtful? Mournful? Silver, watching the candlelight shift emotions around like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, couldn’t say.

Nerves aflutter, he gnawed on his lip and considered what if. He lowered his face further. "You’ll forgive me if I,” he said, voice thinning to a whisper, “try,” and then hardly dared breathe while he let his mouth sink down into the midst of that soft beard and onto silken lips.

 

Satisfied, at last, that it would be considered a kiss and not only an attempt at one, Silver drew back and watched for a response. But none came.

Of course, none came. He shook his head. Truly, it was high time to put silly notions of fantastic deeds aside once and for all.

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time. I’ll just… need to take some things to incentivise the good doctor to make the trip out here. I’m sure you’d understand.”

Concentration proved a slippery thing when he tried to picture his loot and which item he could part with painlessly and, idly searching for a clue perhaps, he glanced at the man’s face again, expecting tacit permission there, but finding green eyes instead whose focus jumped, caught and pinned with terrible accuracy. Silver’s gaze was dragged into them like light into an endless well. 

The man pushed himself upright. With an unexpectedly gentle caress, a touch so light that it was barely there, he slipped Silver’s bandaged hand into his palm.

Silver, suspended in a state of anticipation, let it happen. He was glad to be greeted with no anger and no confusion, only a persistent kind of curiosity.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment and then plaintively, evoking an overwhelming need to comfort and reassure, the man asked him, “You’ll forgive me?”

“I,” Silver said and at that instant found himself grabbed by the nape, a thumb splayed across his pulse. “Wait! No, I didn’t mean to– I thought-” 

As the man pushed him back onto the bed and shifted his muscular body on top of him, it dawned on Silver too late that he had read the signs wrong, that what he had interpreted as curiosity was voracious appetite instead. And as a gust of hot breath moved over his neck and a set of sharp teeth grazed the all too tender skin there, he remembered that some people knew how to craft a spell with skill and purpose and that not all of their handiwork was meant to be broken.

Pain pierced his skin and sank deeper, sounding out the depths of him.

It seemed impossible that someone might desire such a thing as this and therefore Silver had no words at the ready that would stop the act from happening, and his tongue, which had talked him out of many a precarious situation, floundered.

Compared to the immovable grip on him, his own struggle seemed laughably weak, as if his hands were only curled into loose fists, as if his limbs were good for not much more than a twitch, as if he weren’t struggling to free himself with all his strength, now hanging from a mouth like prey.

The man’s lips were fastened tight to his neck, drinking deeply from his heart’s stream. Warmth radiated from the wound, crawling up Silver’s cheek, down over his chest. Slim-fingered, it reached into his veins and sprouted blossoms, letting them grow as tall as trees so that they tinted everything in the luminous red of their immense petals. To Silver they seemed a marvellous thing and he thought he might rest a while in their light and laze in contentment where pleasure was so abundant and he wanted for nothing. Drowsy, he was rocked. Sated, he was fed more. Aroused, he was excited further until ecstasy prickled all over his skin and every individual heartbeat was delight, so that he was a reedy whine, a writhe in the sheets, and nothing more.

His body didn’t seem to know what to do with all that bliss, and he cusped and came inside his drawers – a feeble lift of his hips. And then he was spat out.

Waiting for just that moment, cold, slavering, laid hands on him and made him shiver. With a head full of noise and his vision flickering out, he rolled over and dragged himself across the bed, miles and miles of bright cloth stretching out ahead of him. Reason, perhaps, whispered that he was not going to make it, not in such a weakened state, and he could not counter it, not understanding why he was trying to leave in the first place when there was so much comfort and joy waiting for him just an arm’s length away, only knowing that he absolutely must.

And so he grabbed another delirious inch of his freedom and then another, and slowly, ever so slowly managed to pull himself to the edge of a cliff. He clutched at it, belatedly trying to mitigate his fall, already plummeting.

A pair of strong arms gathered him into their cradle, clasped him tight and lifted him up. “Are you trying to lose another limb?” He was deposited somewhere flat and impossibly soft and then covered in warmth. Silver let the world happen around him for a while. “When you’re awake your hand will need cleaning.” The hair was brushed from his face. “And I’m sure you’ll be hungry too.”


End file.
